


Inexperienced

by grasssea



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationships, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Short n sweet, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 13:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasssea/pseuds/grasssea
Summary: When faced with comparing the two people he's fallen asleep next to, Amenadiel goes for cutlery metaphors. He's an angel not a linguistic genius.





	Inexperienced

**Author's Note:**

> These boys are some very good boys and I would just like to say I have been rooting for them since the beginning. You can find me on tumblr at mazethequeen.tumblr.com

 

When Amenadiel had first 'known' her, in the crudest sense of the word, Maze had been a weapon, a knife poised to strike at his throat.

She is different now. Humanity has changed her into flesh and bone and sinew.

Little Trixie Decker watches movies about many very strange things, fairies and monsters and horses that fly. One of the themes Amenadiel has noticed, perusing the library of DVDs in Dan’s apartment, is that of becoming something else. Heroes are always being changed into frogs or dolls or beasts with claws. Once in a blue moon, a very lucky one will start as a monster and get to become human.

He’s not about to write a thesis about it, but he thinks Barbie and The Magic of Pegasus probably reveals a deeper fixation of the entire species. It’s not his business though, angels have enough issues without mixing themselves up with other people’s.

Despite that fact, he keeps coming back to Daniel.

The officer isn’t Maze, not by a long shot. He is blood and skin and confused smiles. He is eager to please, but quick to judge. He has a soul to save, which paradoxically means he is so much more dangerous to be around.

He likes beer and french fries and movies about kung fu. The improv group he runs likes him, more or less, because he tries, he really does. When it comes to his daughter, he’s an evangelist, peddling the word of Trixie, the smartest nine year old on the block. He keeps pictures in his wallet.

Maze was a knife. Daniel is a spoon, simple and useful and dull.

Amenadiel know what it’s like to not feel like the smartest person in the room. Lucifer is a high standard to live up to, everyone’s shining lightbringer. In the police station, Chloe Decker is a beacon, a sun. Daniel is just another body trapped in her orbit, and it’s so familiar it hurts.

So he stays. Like minds have to stick together.

Where there are blessed people, there are always the ones a step behind, doing what they have to do to keep up.

 

 

 

They grab coffee one day, after work, with Trixie in tow. She likes Amenadiel, for some inexplicable reason, and he finds himself utterly charmed. Dan is ranting about how nobody at the precinct respects labels on food anymore, and Amenadiel gets Trixie a muffin while his back is turned.

Dan sighs, looking impossibly parental. It’s strange, to consider one of his own friends as a parent. Amenadiel is so used to being defined as someone’s child. “She’s not supposed to have red dye after four. She’s going to be impossible to put to bed now.”

“I’ll help,” Amenadiel offers.

Trixie is delighted, and that washes away all protests.

 

 

 

Unlike his brother, Amenadiel never learned how to cook. Unlike Maze, he knows how to read a cookbook. Instructions are easy for him, all he has to do is follow them.

(They always were easy, but now he doesn’t have wings, and he’s in a human’s apartment watching a movie called Frozen and the worst part is that it _isn’t the first time he’s had to see it_.)

Chloe is pulling a night shift, which is why Dan has their child, and all night he gets texts from the station. Amenadiel is only vaguely aware of how law enforcement works at this point, but there are more than twenty before the macaroni and cheese is done, which suggests that it is a big night in crime. Lots of criminals about.

The noodles are overcooked and the cheese has gone manky, but all things considered it isn’t bad for his first time cooking. He says as much and Dan looks appalled.

“Seriously? Not even in college? Rich people are so weird, we have to get you some actual food. What have you even been eating?”

“Takeout? Lucifer has food delivered regularly, or sometimes he cooks and I’ll take some.”

All things considered Dan isn’t the most responsible human out there, but he buries his face in his hands. “You’re a grownup, we’ve gotta work on this.”

Amenadiel surrenders to being humaned, “I’m willing to learn,” he agrees, “I’ll try better in the future.”

“Please, you’re setting a bad example for my kid.”

Trixie doesn’t look very much like she’s been corrupted by the forces of delivered pizza, but she’s entranced in a youtube video on her father’s phone of small dolls being shown off one by one. Dan scoops her up and takes it.

“No more TV, monkey, it’s bedtime. Say goodnight to Amenadiel.”

Getting Trixie to bed requires almost half an hour more of coaxing and rituals and reminders, but eventually she’s gone, and Amenadiel is beginning to get the impression he should go.

“It’s getting late…” he begins.

Dan agrees, “Yeah, yeah. Uh, thanks for coming by. Trixie likes you a lot, and it’s much more fun with another adult around. Sometimes you don’t realize how mind numbing it can be to be alone.”

He remembers the weeks after he fell, alone in his office, with drinks and delivery pizza and ancient scrolls, desperately looking for a solution, shedding feathers. He remembers isolation, aching and real.

“I understand completely,” Amenadiel reassures him.

“Well, thanks then.” Dan pats him on the shoulder, and goes in for a hug. It’s a ritual of theirs, the increasingly awkward hug. Amenadiel cherishes it, for much like a seraphim it is great and terrible to behold. “You’re a good angel, Amenadiel,” he says, earnestly. He’s really trying, though it clearly makes no sense to him whatsoever.

Loneliness, once experienced, is easier to spot in others. Amenadiel sees it now.

The hosts of heaven do not retreat. Neither does a friend.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he suggests, and knows he’s made the right choice when Dan’s face lights up.

They find something Dan dubs a “bad action flick” hiding on some long forgotten midnight channel, and, with the volume turned down so Trixie won’t wake up, they watch it.

The blood effects are terrible, Amenadiel knows, and torture definitely doesn’t work like that, but it’s fun. There are at least three car chases and the burly man gets many suitors, all inevitably female and buxom. Somewhere around the reveal that the suspicious ex-boyfriend is the villain of the piece, Daniel starts to drift off.

In the light of the TV, eyes half lidded with sleep, Dan is a study in curves. The swell of muscles, the soft fall of his jawline against his shoulder, all marked in dim blue.

Maze asleep in that white bed had been beautiful and sharp and bare. On a couch in a t-shirt, Dan is anything but.

Amenadiel knows little about the ways of love. He has only ever loved one person that way before, and depending on who you asked she wasn’t really a person at all.

He doesn’t know enough to say what falling in love feels like, but he knows danger when he sees it. Maze was a knife, and a knife can stab you to death. Dan is a spoon.

A spoon can still carve out your heart.

They fall asleep together on the couch, with explosions playing in the background. 

 


End file.
